


Lessons in German

by ritsuko



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brainwashing, Dom/sub, Foreign Language, M/M, Memory Loss, Name-Calling, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Abuse, bottom!Steve, idk just read it, the winter soldier and bucky are two different people trapped in the same brain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has come to live with Steve, but every night, it's not Bucky who crawls into his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eins

**Author's Note:**

> You will probably have to use google translate. Because I am a dick and don't translate things. (Also, keeps you in a Steve state of mind, not knowing what's being said!)
> 
> Also, my German might be off. But I tried. :p

It's not the first time, but it's still frightening. Steve wakes to pressure on his chest, and a hand wriggling between his legs. In the dim light of the window, he sees the glint of metal, and he knows that it's Bucky. Maybe not mentally, but it is his friend, so he tries to relax. He seeks out those eyes, pleading in the darkness, but all he can see through a mane of hair is cold steel and determination. Steel blue eyes burning with need.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time, Steve had struggled, and that made it worse. He tried to plead, tried to question it, and killer behind those eyes didn't allow it. A crack of that fist was nearly enough to break his jaw, vice-like fingers enough to crush his windpipe. 

"Ruhe! Du hast nicht mit mir sprechen, Hure! Sie sind mein Lohn." He had snarled, voice gravelly and dark, unlike anything he had heard in weeks. The voice was cold, and dark and definitely not Bucky. He didn't know German, but he knew the sound of a threat when he heard it. Nothing could have prepared him for the ripping of fabric, the nudging between his legs, the sharp pain of intrusion. The burn and the tearing and the choking intrusion. Bucky had kept his hand on his throat the entire time, face defiant and claiming him. Then at last, he had felt hot fluid spilling into his bowels, filling him with a heat that chilled him to the core. Weakly, he struggled, unable to comprehend this thing that had just happened. The brunette had ripped out of him, gazing at his work in satisfaction. 

"Gute kleine Schlampe . . . nie vergessen, wer du besitzt." The brunette murmured, watching red and white leak from the man. Just as quickly, he left. 

Steve lay there a long time, blinking back tears, mortified at the state of his body, and fearful that any noise mught summon the monster with Bucky's face again.

When he finally found the courage to rise in the morning to creep to the bathroom, he could hear Bucky humming in the kitchen, the sound of bacon sizzling in the background. Safe and ordinary.

After his shower, warily he had poked his head in the room only to see the brunette reading the paper. Upon hearing him, Bucky gave a wide grin and motioned to the chair across from him. 

Nothing existed in that face that wasn't friendship.

Steve choked down his eggs, reluctant to ask about the night before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shakily, he spreads his legs wider, knowing that noncompliance will only end badly. Steve is surprised by a dark chuckle above him. "Das ist eine gute Schlampe. Sie lieben meinen Schwanz, nicht wahr?"

The words are unfamiliar, but the tone isn't. The more he has struggled, the more he has fought back, the harsher the other man gets. But when he complies, Bucky, no, the soldier treats him. . . not better, but not as badly. 

Steve could fight back. He knows he could. But he can't hurt his friend. What if he knocks him out and then suddenly Bucky never wakes up, and all he has left is a murderous assassin hell bent on claiming him over and over?

The soldier pushes in, murmuring in German, and Steve feels sick. That metal hand comes up to cup his cheek, forcing him to gaze into the other man's eyes. They're so cold, so dark, as if a part of Bucky is still frozen, can't wake up. Held down by all that is the Winter Soldier. Once the other man has pushed all the way in, he grunts in satisfaction.

Despite how often it has happened, it still hurts. There is no preparation for the cock splitting him wide, no lubrication to make it easy. He can tell that the other man is about to start pounding into him. Still, he has to try to get through.

Softly, he places a hand on the other man's chest. "Bucky, please. . . you're hurting me." 

Bucky's eyes widen, hand falling from his face. Something seems to be warring within the depths of of those steely orbs, and for a moment, Steve thinks that maybe, just maybe, Bucky will come back to him-

That steel hand makes a sick cracking sound as it impacts with his face, and the blonde chokes back a cry of pain. He tastes blood, and manages to go limp as that fist smashes into his face again. "Sie können nicht reden! Sie sind nicht erlaubt! Gute Jungs weinen nicht heraus!"

Steve gasps for air, the other man spinning him to slam him face down on the mattress. His metal hand holds his head down, unrelenting and painful. It's undignified, his ass in the air as the other man slams into him, and there's no pleasure to it. Those blue eyes squeeze shut, fingernails cutting into his palms as he tries to focus on anything else to cut the pain.

It takes longer than normal for the soldier to come, but he does with an agonized scream, as if his soul is being ripped in half. Steve dares a look up at the other man, shocked to see tears streaming down the soldier's stoic face.

"Sie haben gut zu sein. Wenn Sie nicht ein guter Junge, werden sie dich verletzt schlimmer. Sie verletzen immer schlimmer." He murmurs, voice broken. Then, to the blonde's surprise, he reaches down and tenderly holds him. 

It feels like his heart is going to hammer out of his chest, but Steve doesn't move, barely breathes, as the other man softly strokes his cheek. He stays there, locked in a false guise of safety, unsure if the soldier or his friend is in control.

Hours pass, until the other man rises and leaves the room without a word.

The worst part is, in the morning, Bucky will no doubt be standing in the kitchen, hair tied back as he cooks bacon and eggs, whistling merrily, without a memory of any of it.

Steve muffles his face in a pillow, longing to scream, but can't find the energy to.


	2. Zwei

"You haven't been looking so good." Sam states cautiously, and for a moment Steve worries that some mark has been left, a bruise, a scratch, some remnant of come. It's stupid, he knows. He made sure he was clean. 

Although nothing can take away the tarnish on his insides.

"Gee, thanks. I thought I was doing pretty good for a ninety-seven year old." Steve snarked, bringing his water bottle to his lips and drinking in the cold. Sam gave him a look, a 'I-know-there's-something-you're-not-telling-me' look, but there wasn't any reason he had to believe that everything was going badly.

"You know what I mean. . . I mean. . . is everything going. . . okay with him?" He asks, looking at the ground. Everyone knew that Bucky was with him for the time being, despite the arguments made by Fury and Nat. But Bucky was his friend and he was going to stay with him no matter what. 

Even if he had suffered. After all, Bucky had suffered far worse in the hands of HYDRA.

Steve chuckles nervously. "As okay as things can be when you're in an unfamiliar time and have been brainwashed for the last seventy years, I suppose. It's just. . . slow going. He remembers some things. He spends a lot of time watching movies, reading the news. Sometimes I think it's hard for him to talk about it."

"Well, what do you try to talk to him about?" Sam questions, and Steve smiles softly.

"All sorts of things. You know, how far we've come as a country. The fact that people have walked on the moon let alone there being a full on alien threat that almost demolished New York. How there are too many guns and not enough kindness in schools today. How in our day we didn't shake our butts on people and call it dancing." Steve states, and Sam chuckles, scratching his head.

"That's kind of some heavy stuff you talk about."

"Well, I don't know where else to start. Every time I mention anything that's happened to him in the last seven decades he clams up, like he's somewhere else." Trapped in memories. . . caged in pain, Steve thinks. He hands the other man his water bottle, which Sam gratefully accepts.

"You know, it's been awhile. Maybe you two just have to learn how to talk to each other again." He takes a drink and passes the bottle back. Steve must have a strange look on his face, because the look that the other man gives him is kind of sheepish. "I mean, uh, you don't have to take my advice, I'm just saying. It just seems like the two of you aren't really speaking the same language anymore, and you have this barrier between you."

What would Sam think, to know that the barrier between the two of them was a repressed psychotic super soldier that came out at night to claim the blonde? He'd probably think that Steve was crazy, both for not telling anyone about it, and not doing anything about it.

But now. . . maybe he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he comes home, arms full of grocery bags, he knocks softly at the door, a special knock he had worked out with Bucky so the other man would know when it was him. The door opens a crack, and then widens, as the other man allows him entry. Bucky's still in gray sweats and a tank top, hair sloppily pulled back into a lopsided ponytail. He'd asked if the other man had wanted to get a hair cut, but Bucky had shirked the idea, not ready to let anyone else touch him. Not yet.

"You were gone awhile." He says, as Steve starts setting his bags on the table. Steve smiles up, as he starts taking out chicken and tomato sauce from one of the bags.

"I was out for my jog with Sam. Then I thought it would be nice to get some books from the library. And then, I thought you might like some lunch. Remember we used to go to Forlini's, before you shipped off? They had the best Chicken Parms ever." He pulls out some garlic and a can of olives next. "I didn't think you'd want to go all the way to Brooklyn, but I thought I could try and whip something up."

Bucky snorts, and it sounds more natural, more Bucky, than many of the days that he's been here. "You? Cook? I don't remember that ever going well."

Steve beams, just happy to have a natural dialogue finally going. Slowly he pulls a recipe book out of one of the bags. "Well, that's why I had to go to the library."

He sets it on the counter, and Bucky picks it up and thumbs through it. "Get anything else?" 

Steve pushes the sack over to him and watches the other man's face blossom with interest. Watches as he pulls out a book on pop art. A book about Easter Island, another about Disneyland. Another about geisha, and one all about the Loch Ness Monster. A variety of subjects, all seemingly safe.

At least he hopes. 

The brunette starts poring over the Disneyland book, and Steve smiles softly. Maybe someday, they might be able to go there. Although at this moment, it would be nice to just get Bucky to leave the house with him.

He turns to the sink to start washing vegetables, but not before his hand lingers on the secret weapon in his pocket. 

All of these things might be possible. . . if he can just get them communicating.


	3. Drei

Steve stays awake, later than normal, just studying. The German book he'd gotten at the library was small, and in no way extensive, but he desperately hopes that it will be enough to help him. It seems like a folly to even dream that this might work, but he has to believe. If life keeps on going like it has been, he isn't sure that he can handle it. 

He keeps one ear trained on the door as he sounds out the words in his book. There's no telling if he will be good enough, if this will even start to work, but he has to try. Earlier, Bucky's fingers had barely brushed his when he'd reached for something on the counter, and Steve had almost dropped the bowl he'd been mixing ingredients in, startled by the contact.

He can't live like that. Not with a fear of Bucky, the only one he has left. While the things that the repressed assassin did to him in the night were in no way acceptable, he can't give up. He has to trust that his Bucky is somewhere still in there.

Then he can focus on his own problems.

When he hears the inevitable footsteps outside, he quickly shoves the book between his mattress and box spring and waits. 

The door creaks open, and the other man is silhouetted in the doorway. For a moment, he looks confused, the light being on and Steve not asleep, but he takes four quick strides and is at Steve's bedside. In the light, his face is less frightening, less monstrous. Steve smiles up at his friend. 

"Zieh dich aus." Bucky states harshly, and Steve doesn't recognize the words. But he will eventually. Slowly he reaches out to the other man, and can tell that the soldier is getting agitated, an order not being followed. "Ich sagte-"

"Bitte seien Sie nett. Ich will dich glücklich zu machen." Steve murmurs, casting his eyes downwards, only to peek up at the other through the lace of his eyelashes. He isn't sure if he's gotten the words right, but he has asked for the other man to be nice, that he wants to make him happy. The other man freezes, as if he is battling some feeling.

"Gibst du mir Befehle?" The brunette states incredulously, hands balling up into fists. Still, Steve doesn't catch the words, but the gist of it. He fights the tenseness he feels, not wanting to goad the soldier into hurting him.

Quickly he drops on all fours and crawls over to where Bucky stands next to the bed. "Bitte, Bucky, ich bin dein Freund. Lassen Sie mich dich glücklich machen." His hands are on the other man's crotch, and he can feel the soldiers cock twitch underneath the fabric. Swallowing, he pulls down and let the other man spring free, already hard. Without hesitation, Steve lowers his head, lips ghosting over the tip of Bucky's cock.

Before any of this had happened, Steve had never considered the possibility of a sexual relationship with his friend. They had been close, much closer than any of the Howling Commandos, but that could have been chalked up to all of their time as kids playing in the streets together, long before the war. Bucky had always been there for him. Bucky had nursed him when he was sick, stood up for him when he was being bullied, even helped him selling newspapers to help make money during the lean months. A lot of the times, Steve found himself shirking away, not because he didn't like the other boy, but because he knew just how easily he could get attached.

It seemed like nothing good had ever stayed in his life for very long, he'd never even known his father, and his mother had worked so hard at the hospital before she died. It was hard not to care about the brunette lady-killer with mischievous eyes and stars in his smile.

That all seemed so long ago, worlds away. Deeply he breathes in the scent of Bucky, like snow covered pine trees and fresh brewed coffee and musk, so very much like home to him. "Schön," He murmurs, hoping that he gets the inflection of the word correctly. Then, he wraps his lips around the head of his friend's cock.

He can feel the other man stiffen underneath him, clearly shocked by the control that he has taken of the situation. Even as Bucky tenses up, he lathes at the other man's length, worshiping it with his tongue. Perhaps if he can show his friend how truly loved he is, the violence that he has experienced can be washed away into a more gentle and loving relationship.

With great care, he swirls his tongue along the underside of Bucky's cock, taking great care to lavish every vein, every bit of skin with attention. Bucky is big, but when he is the one making the rhythm, he finds it easy to swallow him down to the root. When his nose is nestled in his wiry pubic hairs, he pauses, looking up at the soldier. Steve pushes all the emotion that he has in the gaze, all of the caring, all of the kindness, all of the love that he has for Bucky, even though before this it had only been a platonic love.

But now, if the soldier can be tamed, if he can bring Bucky back to himself with nothing but the purity of his feelings, then he will be glad, he will accept whatever emotions come with that. 

Bucky doesn't move, just stares ominously down at him as Steve bobs up and down along his length. Steve's no master at this, but he hollows his cheeks and is careful with his teeth and pours every ounce of his love into the act.

And then he hums.

He can feel the change that comes over the other man immediately, as salty pre-come starts to dribble in his mouth. Steve swallows it down, and doubles his attack, caressing every part that he can with his tongue, hands softly stroking down the other man's thighs. 

Suddenly, Bucky's hands are threaded through his hair. Not roughly this time, but softly, caressing him gently. Steve smiles around his mouthful, one hand going to tentatively stroke the man's balls. Bucky quivers underneath him, and he knows that the other man is close. He continues his ministrations when suddenly, almost shockingly, Bucky pulls him off, spraying the seed of his orgasm across Steve's face. The blonde tries to relax, closing his eyes and opening his mouth, hoping that the soldier will be appeased.

He dares to open his eyes, has to look up through a glob of semen that is sticking to his eyelashes, and finds the other man staring down at him with a look of possession. Slowly, Steve leans forward and sucks on Bucky's slit, tongue delicately licking away the excess come.

Bucky makes an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. "Du bist mein." He murmurs, hand still stroking through those golden strands.

Steve's eyes water, and he smiles. It's all so messed up, he can already feel the cracks forming in his own armor, can feel himself being pulled apart. He wants his friend. He wants to say the words in English.

"Ja, ich bin Dein."


	4. Vier

Steve wakes in the morning, no aches to speak of. It actually feels like he slept during the night, that perhaps things will get better. He stretches his arms out before hopping out of bed, a spring in his step. Maybe it will stop. Maybe he can handle this on his own.

It's when he opens his bedroom door that he smells the burning.

In a panic, he runs to the kitchen to see Bucky standing, staring at nothing out the window, instead of the blackened smoking mess of eggs in the frying pan in front of him.

"Bucky!" He calls, fear lacing his voice, and slowly the other man turns to look at him. Steve's breath hitches.

Dark eyes. Troubled eyes. The soldier's eyes.

Before he can do anything, Bucky blinks, and looks around at him with dawning realization. With a curse under his breath, he takes the pan off of the burner, quickly clapping a lid down over it. He stands there for a long moment, back to Steve, and the blonde can't help but think that there's some internal battle raging within the other man.

". . . Bucky?" He finally asks, voice cautious. 

There's no answer at first, but then the other man looks up at him, disappointment evident in his eyes. "Sorry." He mumbles, sheepish and ashamed. There's no trace of the darkness inside.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "It's okay. Is something wrong?"

Bucky barely meets his eyes, but they are clouded with confusion. "I just. . . I had a really strange dream last night. I guess it just came back to me right now."

Swallowing harshly, Steve holds back from asking what the dream was about. "It's okay Buck. Things happen." There is an awkward silence between them, and Steve continues on, trying to keep the other man from focusing on negativity. "You know what, you should have a day off. I mean, you're nice enough to cook for us every morning. What do you say we go out and get some breakfast down the street? There's a great diner. . ."

He can already see the other man's eyes clouding over, doubt and fear welling within him. It's not hard to follow Bucky's gaze to his shiny metal arm. Bucky barely leaves the apartment as it is, and especially not during daylight, when anyone can see. Never without clothes that cover his entire body.

"I don't know." He murmurs, and Steve bites the inside of his cheek. He knows that Bucky has to get out again, has to try and be a part of the world because he can't just stay inside forever, can't succumb to the feeling of being displaced and not belonging. He reaches out and takes the brunette's metal hand in his. 

"If you don't want to, that's fine. But I don't think you're doing yourself any favors staying cooped up here." He knows it's a risk, that Bucky just might shut down instead of fall for the bait. But those steely gray eyes meet his, slightly annoyed, slightly hurt, but slightly in agreement.

"Fine. You wanna go so bad, we'll go."

Steve can hardly contain his joy. This is only the beginning of better things, of things being the way they used to be, he reasons with himself, despite a warning in the back of his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trixie's is a greasy spoon diner that echoes an era neither of them were alive for, with checkerboard floors and teal booths. They enter with a jangling of bells at the door, and a wave from one of the ladies at the register. Steve doesn't know if the 50's was full of waitresses popping their gum and riding around on roller skates, but the cook makes a mean stack of pancakes.

Bucky chooses the furthest booth from the door, and sits so his back is against the wall. As he flips through the menu, Steve pretends not to notice, just gives the other man time to adjust. Bucky tentatively picks up a menu, but keeps furtively glancing about. When the waitress comes, he has already set his menu down, fingers of his flesh hand tapping nervously at the table.

"Would you two like some drinks?" The waitress arrives and asks, and out of habit, Steve orders coffee. He looks over at Bucky, who just shakes his head. He looks like any moment he's going to burst out of his skin, just staring out at the street through the window. 

"I think actually we're ready to order? I'll have the pancake stack, with some bacon and eggs over-easy?" The waitress jots it down and then looks expectantly at the brunette.

He doesn't even look at her. "Denver Omelet."

"What kind of toast, hon?" She asks, and Bucky flinches.

"Rye."

As soon as she leaves, Bucky relaxes visibly. Not completely, but he seems a little less wound up. But still entirely distracted. He picks up his fork and starts polishing it with a napkin.

"This isn't so bad, huh?" Steve asks, trying to make small talk, anything to coax the other man out of his paranoia. "It takes a lot getting used to, but it won't take too long. When I first got here, everything seemed so strange, but things got more familiar. I mean, when I first woke up, they tried to do it all naturally. Tried to make me think I was back in the forties. It was a pretty big shock when I got on the street-"

"It's not like I haven't seen modern day inventions, Steve." Bucky clips him, voice low and dark. "I probably know more about modern day advances than you."

Steve swallows, brows furrowing in worry at the other man's tone. "I. . . guess that's true. Sorry. I guess I just thought that a lot of times they didn't let you experience life."

"Oh, they didn't. But it's hard to ignore every single advancement that ever happened. Sometimes the news would be on. Sometimes they'd play music in the labs." Bucky hums the melody of a song, but shakes his head. "I can remember the tune, but I can't remember the words. Or who sang it. Sometimes we'd be out in the field for days at a time, and the handlers-" Bucky winces at his word, retracting it, "The other members of the team would talk about what movies were out, what actresses they wanted to fuck." Steve must have a sour look on his face, because Bucky just rolls his eyes. "I guess at some point in time, everyone was crazy for some girl named Twiggy. Twiggy." He gives Steve a look, a glimmer of the old Bucky shining through. The blonde gives a half smile. "I can't remember when that was though."

"You're a lot further along than me. Been out of the deep freeze long enough to learn all sorts of new things and I've been too busy on missions to even learn how to work my cell phone. I've got a whole list of things to check out." Steve says, and the waitress comes back to the table, a coffee and two waters in hand. Again, Bucky visibly clams up and turns away from her, hiding his arm under the table. There's no need, with the long sleeved jacket and gloves that he's wearing, but he does it still.

When she leaves, he doesn't try to start the conversation again, so Steve does. "We could try some of the things on my list? I still haven't gotten around to Star Trek and Thai Food?" 

It's so hard, trying to coax a response out of the other man, someone who used to be so open and jovial and interested in life. This Bucky is a paranoid shell. Already Steve feels drained by this excursion, he can't imagine how Bucky feels.

Several minutes pass, and Bucky still hasn't said a word, he still just fidgets with his silverware. "Bucky, I think that maybe we should consider-"

The diner door slams open with a cacophony of bells as a group of teenagers tromp in, and the brunette immediately jumps up from the table. The waitress, plates full of food in hand, is understandably startled by the sudden man in her face and drops the plates. Bucky turns, wild eyed, and for the first moment, Steve sees the butter knife in his hand.

Not the weapon of a killer, but he doesn't doubt the amount of damage that it could do in Bucky's hands. 

He rises quickly, reaching out for the other man. "Bucky! Stop it!"

All it takes is a quick pressure on the brunette's arm, and Bucky's attention is focused solely on him, eyes flashing menacingly. Less than two seconds and that dull blade is taut against his carotid artery. The cold calculated eyes that look at him are nothing like his friends'.

The pressure against his neck builds.

"Bucky! Stoppen Sie es jetzt!" Steve snaps, and the other man stops. Slowly, Bucky's arm falls, and he blinks rapidly, as if he's waking from some sort of dream. In confusion, he looks down at his hand, clenching the metal so hard that it's started to bend. Slowly, he starts to back away, looking wildly around. "Bucky. . . it's okay. I'm here. We're safe, okay?"

"Es tut. . ." Bucky shakes his head, despair flooding his features. "I. . . I'm sorry."

He runs, butter knife clattering to the floor. It only takes Steve a half second to slam a fifty dollar bill on the table and run after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end, Bucky started to say "Es tut mir leid" which means "I'm sorry", but switched when he realized he was speaking German.


	5. Zwischenspiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV

German. Steve spoke German. But he can't speak German. That's HYDRA's language. The language of pain, of obedience. It should never be uttered on his best friend's lips.

It feels like something's snaking through his veins, whispering from darkness to him.

_Weapon. Murderer. Monster._

He runs until everything is a blur, cutting down the street, unsure of where he is trying to go, what he is trying to do. He darts across the road, heedless of the traffic. Horns blare at him, a car's bumper clips his leg.

Bucky doesn't stop, can't stop. He's being chased by demons in his head, the cold eyes of the soldier watching him, calculating. Searching for a weakness.

It had been so easy to assume that the soldier was no more, that personality that could bear excutiating pain and kill without remorse. He'd assumed that he was in control. 

His running is halted then he hits a dead end alley. He fists his hands against it.

It's not fair. He didn't ask for this. He wants this nightmare to be over. To be there for Steve, to be who he should be, instead of this paranoid, unsure shell of a man. 

An impostor in Bucky Barnes' body.

The contents of his stomach end up on the ground.

With a frustrated scream, he punches the wall with his right hand, his good hand.

His real hand. 

Not some HYDRA-forged weapon that made him putty in the hand of the enemy for seventy years.

His hand starts to sting. Tears blur his vision, but even so, he can see that his hand is a red pulpy mess. He's been punching the wall repeatedly, bits of flesh and crimson coating the bricks Staggering back, he lets out a bloodcurdling cry, and sinks to his knees.

He's been fooling himself. Just the thought of Steve, his rock, his best friend uttering commands in German. . . he moans, face in his hands.

What has he done?

_You're too weak on your own. You need me._ The words are in German, but he translates them perfectly.Just the sound makes him want to heave, but there is nothing left to come up. 

All this time, he thought he'd gotten over being the soldier, was slowly making progress. Now it seemed like the soldier was a whole other entity, something bubbling up within himself, waking and taking control. 

"Shut up." He growls, clenching his metal fist on the ground. 

_The slut will be looking for you. He is mine._

It takes a moment to comprehend exactly what the darkness inside him is talking about, and then his blood goes cold. 

Things start to make sense. Steve's recent onset of timid behavior; as if he's been walking on eggshells around him. Worried glances at bedtime. 

Showers before he even leaves his bedroom in the morning. 

"What have you done?" He chokes out, horrified by what the answer might be. 

_I claimed what is mine. I was good. I followed orders. I deserve my prize!_

Bucky clutches the sides of his head, eyes squeezed shut. It's a nightmare. An unbelievable nightmare. With a snarl, he pushes against that force in his brain, lashing out. 

"Go away!" He screams. 

He can feel that force within him, inky and insidious. Slowly, it disperses, and Bucky tries to calm his breathing down. Four counts in, four counts out. After several minutes, he's able to sit back shakily, hands clutching his knees to his chest. 

It's far from over. He doesn't even know if this can be considered a win. But he has to make it safe. For Steve. 

Tears spring to his eyes. He can only imagine what the solider has done to his friend. It makes him want to run away, to never bother Steve anymore. 

It makes him wish he was dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . it's my birthday. :p


	6. Fünf

At first, Steve panics. DC is a big city and there's no real way of knowing just which direction that Bucky has gone. All he knows is he can't lose him again, and especially not over something that he should have been honest about.

Cars and people are everywhere, easy targets and unwanted distractions to someone in Bucky's shoes. Steve doesn't even know which way to start looking. The intersection is buzzing with life, but nowhere can he see his friend that wants nothing more than to blend into the shadows. He hears a crash in the distance and starts running in that direction, hoping.

He should have told him. Should have been honest. But Steve can't bear to think what might have happened; what Bucky would think, what he would do if he knew just what the soldier had done. It makes a lump form in his throat. Everything is just so messed up. 

There's a wreck up ahead, and he quickly sprints around it. His ears strain for any sound, any proof of his best friend. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, he is finally awarded a very masculine, guttural scream. 

The sounds start to dissipate, but he manages to follow them to the head of an alley. The sight at the end of it stalls him in his tracks. Bucky is holding his head, blood running down one mangled hand. He takes a step forward when the brunette screams again.

"Go away!"

Steve halts, backing up a step. It feels like someone his squeezing his lungs, much like he used to feel during a bad athsma attack. 

Asthma attacks that Bucky helped him through, soothing and breathing with him. Tears prick the corners of his eyes.

How could he do this to him?

Finally, Bucky seems to calm slightly, sitting back with his knees hugged to his chest. Steve swallows, and steps further into the alley.

"Buck?" He calls, worry and shame lacing his voice. The brunette's head snaps up, a look in his eyes wild and frightening. It's like an animal that's been spooked, is ready to run. Steve stops walking, just stands and waits patiently.

_I'm so sorry. I did this to you. I just wanted you to get better. . . but I messed up. God, I messed up._

He's too much of a coward to say the words. So much for the brave Captain America.

The silence stretches.

Finally, a croak. "Why?"

Steve swallows harshly. What reason is a good reason? There's such a long moment of silence that the brunette looks down at his hand.

"It just. . . it just happened. I didn't know what to do. You woke up in the morning and everything seemed fine, but then the next night. . ." Steve can't stop himself from shuddering. "I didn't want to hurt you. I guess I thought if I could control him-"

"Control me. He's me." Bucky snaps bitterly, voice on the verge of breaking. His whole body is taut, vibrating with distress.

Steve shakes his head. "He is not you, Bucky, there is no way on earth you would. . ." His voice tapers off as Bucky's horrified face gazes up at him, pleading.

"No way I would what?" His voice is cold, edging on the sound of the soldiers. Steve swallows audibly, heart beating faster. 

He can't hide it forever.

"There's no way you would ever hurt me like that." Steve states softly, and Bucky's face falls. Springing to his feet, he completely stops looking at Steve at all.

". . . and you thought the answer was to learn German? I mean, hell, what did you even say to him? Me?" The brunette clutches the side of his head, torn. Steve reaches out to him, but his hand is knocked away by a metal one. "No, don't touch me right now. I can't even tell what I want anymore."

Steve feels hurt to be pushed away, but at the same time he knows that some part of him asked for this. "I'm sorry. It was hard for me too, you know. I just. . . I didn't know what else to do." His voice sounds so small, so unlike himself, that he can hardly believe it. But he feels terrible, knows that he's let his best friend down.

Bucky mutters something, this time in Russian and the blonde casts him another shocked look. "Please, Bucky, can we just talk about this? I just. . . I can't keep learning German or start learning any other language just to tell you that this is as much my fault, alright? Even more so-"

"Stop martyring yourself!" Bucky snarls, eyes wide and ashamed, finally looking at him. Stormy blue eyes shimmer with tears, threatening to spill over any second. "You think I'm absolved of anything just because you went along with whatever fucked up things I did?"

Calmly, Steve takes another step forward. "It wasn't you, Buck. It was him."

A bitter laugh bursts into the air like the crack of a shot being fired. "It was this body, these hands!" He lifts them both, one shiny silver and the other coated in crimson. "You're gonna say it wasn't me? Jesus, Steve, I can't even remember it, but I still know it was me. Don't be fucking stupid!" He seethes, and the blonde recoils at the acid in his voice.

That blue gaze levels on him, serious and hurt and sorry. "I'm not stupid. You're not violent Bucky. That wasn't you. You'd never hurt me. You'd never. . ." The words taper off, as if the blonde just can't say the words.

Bucky's eyes flash dangerously. "Rape you?" He grits out, and Steve can feel the blood drain from his face. Tears start to well in his eyes, because he doesn't know what to say, because yes, it was rape.

But that wasn't his Bucky. He can't ever believe that. It was the soldier. Bucky's face has never been so hard, so cruel.

The brunette's face starts to fall, features trapped somewhere between horror and shame. He chuckles weakly, leaning his head forward to allow a curtain of hair to cover his face. Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and brush it away, to soothe and tell Bucky it's going to be all right.

But nothing feels alright when his tongue is turning into sandpaper in his mouth. It hurts to breathe, even worse than all the asthma attacks he ever had combined, because this time, Bucky's not rubbing circles on his back and soothing him to breathe. Because his time, it's hurting his best friend. All he can do is stubbornly stammer out, "That wasn't you."

Bucky is on him before he can even react, slamming him up against a brick wall, eyes manic and desperate. "You keep saying that, as if it will make it true, as if it will go away. You don't know the things I've done, that they had me do." The last words become choked, and a slight bit of sanity comes back to the brunette's eyes, as if he hadn't realized exactly what he was doing. Shame blossoms across his face, and there isn't anything that Steve wouldn't give to make it go away.

"I don't care." Steve purses his lips, pushing back testily at the arm holding him. "That's not you. That's crap you were programmed to do. You'd never do that, Bucky. I know you. That's the things they made you do."

Bucky staggers back a step, the pressure holding Steve up released. He still holds the front of his jacket like a life line, the only thing keeping him from losing everything. "Then why do I remember those?" He counters bitterly, face falling again. "All the times I pulled the trigger, all the times I sunk a knife hilt deep into someone. If I could do those things. . . how could I not do these other things? What makes me the bigger monster Stevie? The sins I can own up to, or the ones I can't remember at all?" Breathing heavily, Bucky takes another step back, distress palpable on the air.

"None of these things are your fault, Bucky. I'm as much to blame as you are." Steve feels like he's failed, like he should have tried harder, should have pinned the soldier down and kept him from taking. 

He should have.

"What happens tonight Steve? What happens when I go nuts again. What happens when I hurt you?" Bucky asks bitterly, staring down at his hands.

Steve doesn't know, only knows that he can't live without Bucky.

"I can take it." Steve murmurs softly, and Bucky laughs harshly. 

"You shouldn't have to fucking take it! That's crazy! You deserve someone happy and loving, someone who can give you the world. Some pretty dame that you can marry and have kids with. Not some broken old psychopath who wants to use you. I just. . . I can't do that to you."

Steve knows he's going to bolt again. He can see it in those troubled eyes. Licking his lips, he speaks softly. "Buck, please. Don't do this. I just got you back."

"I can't live under the same roof, Stevie. Not knowing these things are happening. Not knowing what he's doing in the middle of the night. God, I'm such an idiot. Making you eggs and bacon in the morning like everything's sunshine and roses." 

Steve's throat clenches, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to have an attack. It's stupid really, just muscle memory playing tricks on him. But the thought of losing Bucky again is worse than getting shot, getting stabbed, getting frozen.

"Please Bucky. We're all we have left." He pleads.

Bucky looks at the ground, trembling hard. He can see the inner battle playing out in his mind, the want to stay, the need to go.

The brunette turns away. "Es ist nur zu deinem Besten." He whispers. Then, those eyes widen in horror as he realizes the language he's spoken in.

Then, he runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR!](http://ritsuko-chan.tumblr.com)


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